Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 68

“Back in the day we couldn’t leave East Germany. The only...

“Back in the day we couldn’t leave East Germany.  The only foreigners we could meet were international students at our university.  But all contact was forbidden.  It was the law.  He was a law student from North Vietnam.  He was seven years older than me.  Even today we argue about the first time we met, but I believe we were waiting in line for a meal.  He was so beautiful, especially his eyes.  He had such sad eyes.  He’d driven a truck during the war, so he’d seen so much: the bombings, the bodies, the destruction.  But part of him was so soft.  He could love so much.  We met secretly.  I snuck through windows and back entrances.  We slept on a mattress on the floor of my dorm room.  If we’d ever been seen, he’d have been deported.  I never realized I could be a liar.  But I made up so many stories.  I even hid it from my friends.  It always seemed like a temporary love story.  He had to go home after graduation, so we always felt the end was near.  But we kept applying for visa extensions, until finally the police came to our apartment.  I made one last desperate attempt.  I wrote a letter to a German writer who was known to be politically connected.  I told him our entire story, and asked for help.  He wrote back right before Christmas.  He said that everything had been arranged.  He’d spoken to his friends in the Politburo, and my husband would be allowed to stay in the country.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“She’s a street dog from Malta. A rescue agency dumped her on a...

“She’s a street dog from Malta.  A rescue agency dumped her on a friend then stopped answering the phone.  I volunteered to babysit for a couple days, even though I’m not big on small dogs.  And for some reason she really took a liking to me.  She kept trying to climb up on me.  I was like: ‘What is this thing?’  Her eyes were bugging out of her head.  She was peeing everywhere.  Her nails were two inches long.  And her teeth were falling out so she looked like a vampire.  When I took her to the vet, we found out her heart was enlarged.  Her lungs were filled with fluid.  And she needed all her teeth pulled out.  On the way home I stopped by a store.  I wanted to get a small bag to carry her in, just while she recovered.  But deep down I knew.  If I’m buying a bag for a dog, there’s always going to be a dog in the bag.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“Two weeks after the divorce I met another guy on Instagram. We...

“Two weeks after the divorce I met another guy on Instagram.  We talked for hours on our first date.  And it felt so good after this long, unhappy relationship.  I finally had that feeling again.  I hadn’t felt it in years.  And it was so beautiful.  He wrote so much to me.  Oh my goodness, so many words.  He was saying I was great.  And I was the perfect woman.  And he was so thankful he found me.  And he wanted me to meet his family.  It was his idea to get tattoos together.  It was his idea to move in together.  But as soon as we did, he changed.  He became less affectionate.  So I suggested we slow down a little.  I suggested we live apart.  And that’s when he cut off all contact.  So in the past month, I’ve lost two houses and two men.  I’m so mad at myself.  I feel so stupid.  I couldn’t even be alone for two weeks.  I’ve never been alone.  I had my first boyfriend when I was thirteen.  I dated so many guys in school.  I got married when I was 21.  For my entire life, there’s always been someone there.  I don’t even know what life looks like when you’re alone.  It’s my biggest fear.  I’m not sure I can handle it.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“My wife gave me our son while she’s at a doctor appointment, so...

“My wife gave me our son while she’s at a doctor appointment, so I have the chance to watch him for a little bit.  I’m going to bring him to lunch at the office and introduce him to my colleagues for the first time.  I’m sure some of them won’t care, but I’m excited about it.  It’s like my two worlds are coming together.  Being a father is a huge part of who I am right now.  And my colleagues are the people I spend the most time with.  I’m excited for them to see why I’m so happy to go home every day.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“My patients tell me about their experiences. But I can’t tell...

“My patients tell me about their experiences.  But I can’t tell them about mine.  It’s frustrating.  Like the connection is so close.  Like we could be friends in different circumstances.  But it’s impossible.  I have a role to fill.  The therapist’s role is to hear.  To listen.  To help without asking.  To understand my patients’ problems, but to control my emotional response.  So I can’t tell them what I’ve been through.  I can’t tell them that I have no close relationships.  I can’t tell them that my mother didn’t want me.  That she abused me with hands and words.  That she was never happy that I existed.  As a child I was kept hidden from the outside world.  I couldn’t speak of my experiences.  I couldn’t express my emotions.  If it wasn’t for the church, I would not have survived.  The Bible was the first place I ever heard: ‘It’s good that you are alive.’  These are words that every child needs to hear.  If you go too long without hearing them, things get very dark.  And I didn’t hear them until I was seventeen.  Even today I’m constantly fighting the temptation to be alone.  It’s so difficult for me to form friendships.  I must challenge myself to trust people: that they won’t hurt me, that they won’t make fun of me, that they like spending time with me.  Because if I don’t keep fighting, I’ll spend all my time alone.  It’s so comfortable to be alone.  To become lost.  And to lose the will to live.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“It’s like a little moment: two days, maybe three. When you can...

“It’s like a little moment: two days, maybe three.  When you can forget about life and all the pressure.  The clubs are really, really beautiful.  The music is so good.  There are people from every age and background.  And everyone takes drugs.  Nobody cares what you do.  You can have hairy armpits.  You can have a girlfriend.  Nobody cares.  Everyone is just so happy to be there.  We all dance together and everyone is so kind.  It’s such a beautiful thing for an eighteen year old girl to see.  It’s the feeling I was looking for.  So I held onto it.  These people became my family.  But it was all an illusion.  They turned out to be lost like me.  They were just as vulnerable as me, but some of them were twice my age.  My friends have lost jobs from partying.  One of them lost his kid.  And deep down I know they’re sad because they didn’t do shit for themselves.  They missed something in their life and they know it’s too late.  So they just wait for the weekend.  Wait for that moment to come again.  And it always comes again, for two or three more days.  But it never lasts.  Because Mondays exist.  You wake up and you’re like: ‘Oh shit, it’s over.’ But that’s ok, because in five days it starts again.  Then one morning you wake up, and seven years have passed.  And you’re twenty-five.  And you still haven’t gone back to school.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“When my grandmother died, there was a feeling that I’m all...

“When my grandmother died, there was a feeling that I’m all alone in this world.  Her favorite saying was: ‘I’m always here for you, whenever you need me.’  Without asking questions.  Without judging.  My parents were different.  They wanted things from me.  They wanted me to be a good person, and graduate, and get a job, and do well.  But I kept failing.  I questioned everything.  I was bad at school.  I didn’t follow the rules.  I had purple hair.  And a nose ring.  And to make things worse, I had this perfect, beautiful little sister who did everything right.  But every time I messed up, I could go to Oma.  And she’d tell me: ‘Don’t worry so much.  These things aren’t important.’  And ‘I love you darling.’  And ‘You’re not a bad person.’  And ‘You’ll find a way to be happy.’  It could be so hard growing up.  It felt like the world wanted so much from me.  But my grandmother was different.  She just loved me.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“I started this job a few months ago. For years I worked in the...

“I started this job a few months ago. For years I worked in the hospitality industry, but I got tired of giving people food and alcohol in exchange for money.  It’s been so nice for me to help someone in a more human way.  For Nico, I assist with everything apart from her medical issues.  It involves a lot of guessing.  I try to put myself in her situation and ask how I’d like it.  Calm is important.  I always stay very calm.  We obviously can’t have crazy long conversations, but it’s kinda enough.  I’m more of an energy person anyway.  The crazy thing is that Nico’s exactly twice my age.  She’s forty-six and I’m twenty-three, which also happens to be the age when she was first diagnosed.  Back then she was so similar to me.  We both travelled the world.  We both loved freedom, and beach time, and gypsy life, and small rebellions.  And now here we are, sitting in the sun, in the exact same place, but for two different reasons.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“My parents came from families that came from war. They grew up...

“My parents came from families that came from war.  They grew up under a lot of authority.  But now there’s peace, and I’m part of the generation that’s free to do what they like.  My mother was a bit of a hippie.  Not the kind that smokes weed and shows tits, but open minded.  She wanted to raise me freely and give me choices.  My childhood was nonviolent.  She let me argue back.  She gave me what I wanted, as long as I could persuade her.  I could put my feet on the table.  I could eat dinner on the couch.  If I didn’t enjoy my music class, or my sports practice, I didn’t have to go back.  But now I’m thirty, and I’m suffering from too much freedom.  It’s like I can swim wherever I want.  But I’m in the middle of the ocean, and there’s no land around, and no markers, and everything looks the same.  And I’m just flailing.  I haven’t spoken to my mother for over a year.  She says I’ve had too many chances.  She wants me to finally quit the drugs.  And I can’t promise her that.  She says it’s my choice, of course.  I can keep doing them if I want.  Just without her.”
(Berlin, Germany)

“Over the past few years I’ve been having a lot of negative...

“Over the past few years I’ve been having a lot of negative thoughts.  Toward the world.  Toward myself.  Toward other people.  I’ve been struggling with chronic depression, and I think the most obvious symptom is negativity.  My perception changed so slowly that I didn’t even notice.  It didn’t feel abnormal.  I just thought I was seeing the world clearly.  I thought people were basically mean.  I couldn’t find the energy to sit down with them, talk to them, and learn they aren’t bad.  But everything has changed these past few months.  Watching her grow has been a revelation.  She’s positive toward all humans.  And everyone is positive toward her.  I never know who starts it.  I don’t see who begins the interaction.  But so many times I’ll be on the bus or metro, and I’ll look up, and she’ll be smiling at a stranger.  And they’re smiling back.  And it makes me so happy.  Sometimes my face hurts from smiling so much.  She’s taught me how prejudiced I’d become toward other people.  Somehow I’d forgotten that if you smile, people smile back.”
(Berlin, Germany)